


The longest night

by FakeCirilla9



Category: Outlander (TV)
Genre: Blood and Gore, Canon Gay Character, Canon-Typical Violence, I'm Sorry, M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Present Tense, Sadism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-15
Updated: 2020-09-15
Packaged: 2021-03-06 15:55:03
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,355
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26481502
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FakeCirilla9/pseuds/FakeCirilla9
Summary: Yet another version of what happened in a Wentworth Prison.
Relationships: Jamie Fraser/Jonathan "Black Jack" Randall
Comments: 5
Kudos: 45





	The longest night

**Author's Note:**

  * For [i_dwell_in_darkness](https://archiveofourown.org/users/i_dwell_in_darkness/gifts).



> I am ashamed of myself.

He arranges him on a table, places his hand so that Jamie will not suffer by accident (that’d be unprofessional; pain should serve a purpose).

He can see the fear obvious in the lines of the boy’s body, even as he attempts to mask it on his face, keeping his expression carefully blank. He looks so young, unsullied, inexperienced; a carte blanche waiting for Randall to mark it (as his back has been).

Randall moves around in preparation. He doesn’t hurry and Jamie’s anxiety grows until it spills off him in desperate words: “Do this already. How much longer do ye intend to dally?” The tone was supposed to be cocky but he barely keeps the shiver out of it.

Jonathan smiles at him. “Soon,” he tells him with a dark promise in his voice that makes Jamie’s eyes widen. “Although I won’t hurry. It will take time to make you feel good.” Now the eyes resemble these of a hunted beast, like a fox on St. Hubert’s day looking wildly around, seeking for a way out when cornered by scent hounds.

Randall uncorks the vial and pours a generous amount of oil upon his palm. He keeps it in his hand for a warm-up and the air fills with the rich smell of lavender. Its heavy aroma spreads through the whole cell, making the atmosphere more stifling rather than bringing a memory of meadows to one’s mind.

Jamie jumps when it touches his skin. Randall chuckles as he smears the slickness on his buttocks: still an unblemished extent of skin over the taut muscles. He kneads firmly, gropes, commands to relax.

“Have you thought I’ll take you without any preparation?” he asks conversationally, dipping one finger in where the oil trickled down.

Jamie chokes down a noise and turns his head so that the red locks cover him from Randall. Jonathan lets him stifle his voice for now – he will make him scream yet – but he reaches with his other hand to put the unruly curls back, tucks them behind Jamie’s ear, and tips Jamie’s head just so with a persuasive grip on the hair. This way he can witness all the minute variations of discomfort in his captive’s expression: the furrow of his brows, the nervous spasm of a cheek, the creased – as if in confusion or concentration – forehead.

The second finger makes Jamie pant, puffs of breath escaping through the clenched teeth. His jaw works but he’s not able to stop all the sighs.

“If you stopped fighting it, it’d be easier for you,” Randall tells him just to spite him up.

“If I fought–” Jamie struggles to keep the catch out of his voice, making stops in tune with Randall’s moves, “ye’d– never– hae me.”

A new rush of dark want floods Jonathan. It is light-heading to master someone who opposed him so fiercely. Jamie might be too innocent to realise the effect of his words but Randall feels his pants tighten once more, back to what they felt like when he shuttered Jamie’s hand, broke the fine bones, impaired the grace and strength for ever.

He lets go of Jamie to unbuckle his pants, letting out a sigh of contentment at the relief. He takes himself in hand, just holding, and closes his eyes for a moment.

The most imminent want reined in, he steps to Jamie, brushes their loins together, lets the boy feel what he feels. Jamie shifts beneath him but doesn’t try to escape; at least not consciously. How his hips jerk away from Randall seems more like a reflex, like a dog with tail between its legs. Jamie will be showing him his belly yet tonight.

Randall leans down above the masterpiece his hand wrought of Jamie’s back. From this close, he can admire every line, each cross and cut left for eternity, an inalienable sign of his possession over this boy.

He leans further down, presses with his hips and finally their connection is complete. The tight, quivering heat envelopes him, he’s caught in a bliss. What an effort it is to open his eyes to see Jamie in addition to hearing his moans. Jamie’s back is hunched and his hand must bother him anew in the present curl of his upper body. His muscles are strung so tight he appears diminished by Jonathan’s looming form. Brought so low, unable to hide anything behind the thick wool of his clothes or elusive mask of etiquette, he is perfect.

“Jamie,” Randall breaths, trying to convey at least a small grain of his feelings.

Words cannot express it, so he moves, sinks deeper into the scorch. When there is no more to give, when he possessed Jamie’s body to the fullest, he can only retreat and repeat the action.

Jamie whines, writhes under him as if in throws of fever. Randall catches him, grips the strong body, feels the sturdy muscles of the warrior, the flesh hardened in battles like the finest steel. How can anyone prefer the meek softness of women over this: the possession, ownership, moulding of the spirit so proud and free. He would never be free off Randall after this.

Jonathan runs his hands over the dead flesh of the scarred skin. He wonders if Jamie can feel it. He brings himself yet lower, nearly lies on Jamie, covering him with his own body like with a sheet, and locks his mouth to Jamie’s back.

Jamie utters another noise of distress, an unspoken complaint stains his moan. Randall squeezes one broad shoulder with his teeth. In response, Jamie’s body tenses and Randall groans at the pleasure it brings him. He wants more.

He slides his hand slowly up Jamie’s side, traces his pulsing with pain arm gently until he reaches the mangled flesh cradled protectively in the other palm – and squeezes. Jamie cries out and trashes and Jonathan barely keeps him in place, struggles to stay with him.

Jamie shivers in the aftermath yet as Randall’s hand creeps back there.

“Noo,” the voice is raspy from the shout.

Randall ignores the plea and grips the bloodied limb again, this time tempering his strength, moderating the applied force. He rides the shudders and twitches it causes, reveals in the throws Jamie’s body gives, and thrusts into the clenching heat, gripping him as tight as if to never let go, so firmly that is borders on pain. Jonathan rides the wave until he comes with a satisfied groan to Jamie’s dying sobs and cheeks wet from tears.

Randall lets himself rest for a moment on Jamie’s broad back, slowing his racing breath and hammering heart. Jamie lies beneath him without one move, barely breathing, the hitching inhales the only sign of his weeping. By the time Randall is composed enough to stand, Jamie masters himself somewhat as well.

The boy makes a noise when Jonathan leaves him, slipping out of his body and mind. He remains sprawled on the table, making no attempt to stand but he follows Randall with glinting eyes as the Englishman proceeds to wash himself clean of blood and sweat and other slickness.

Jonathan feels Jamie’s eyes on himself but doesn’t do anything to shield himself. The boy can look all he wants. Randall wonders if he likes what he sees and smiles to the thought.

When he approaches Jamie again, the boy has rallied himself enough to speak.

“Kill me,” Jamie whispers, beholding Randall with something between a plea and a demand.

Randall strokes his hair, runs his fingers through the tangles gently.

“Kill me, you promised,” Jamie’s voice is breaking again and a true fear widens his eyes when Jonathan shakes his head no.

Jamie looks one step away from sobbing. Jonathan puts a calming hand on his shoulder. He leans to whisper in his ear.

“You promised me something too. A whole night and the moon is not yet in its zenith outside these walls. Have you thought I’d be satisfied with just one time?”

Randall leans closer yet and swallows whatever sound Jamie was going to make – a sob? a protest? a curse? – with his own mouth.

**Author's Note:**

> I hope you enjoyed it as much as I did and I and Black Jack are not the only sadists here.


End file.
